Fishing is a sport popular among middle-aged men.
It has even begun to permeate the younger demographic.
Many married men and even younger people, who neither play cards, drink, nor chase women, could sit with a fishing rod by the water’s edge for an entire day.
As a first-timer, Jiang Chen’s fishing skills were naturally a mess. Moreover, the old man had said there weren’t many fish in the river, so after sitting for most of the day, his submerged fish basket was still empty.
Though lacking in fishing skills, he possessed the essential virtue of every fisherman—patience. Even after wasting half the day without seeing even a shadow of a fish, he remained calm and unruffled.
Fortune favors the persistent.
After persisting for four to five hours, the float finally moved as if a fish was nibbling at the bait.
Jiang Chen, a complete rookie, didn’t rush and instead straightened his body, planning to wait until the fish was completely hooked before reeling in.
The float began to bob more violently on the surface of the water.
Just as Jiang Chen gripped the simple fishing rod to lift it, suddenly, the sound of a car engine broke the silence.
The fish got spooked and swam away.
The float returned to its undisturbed state.
Jiang Chen, not at all frustrated by the near miss, reeled in the fishing line at a measured pace.
Most of the bait had been nibbled away.
Dinner’s fresh fish soup had been almost guaranteed.
Jiang Chen removed the bait.
An ordinary gray Kia stopped by the river.
Cui Zaiye, blindfolded, twitched his ears, sensing the vehicle had come to a stop.
As the head of an organized crime group, he naturally possessed the composure to remain unruffled in the face of danger, at least outwardly.
"Can I take off the blindfold now?"
Dutiful throughout the trip, Cui Zaiye spoke up.
Cui Zaiye lifted his hand to remove the blindfold, squinting instinctively due to the sudden light; then he saw a river and a young figure by the bank, replacing his bait.
It was the same Western man who had blocked his room, standing by the car door. Cui Zaiye remembered his tactical gear and those indifferent eyes.
Now unmasked, the Westerner’s face was typical of his region. Even without uttering a word, his distinguished presence made Cui Zaiye aware that he was no ordinary man.
How could anyone without sound or presence take down so many of his men and quietly reach his doorstep?
Without any superfluous words, Cui Zaiye stepped out of the car with the poise of a mob boss.
The man remained by the car, not following.
With an expressionless face, Cui Zaiye seemed to know what to do and walked toward the young figure by the river.
"Mr. Cui, sorry for making you come all this way."
The freshly baited fishing line was cast back into the river.
Cui Zaiye said nothing, but when he saw the other man fully turn his head to look at him, his familiar young face made Cui Zaiye narrow his eyes.
Half in astonishment.
"Mr. Cui, you’re not injured, are you?"
Cui Zaiye’s face was cold as ice.
"Why the useless chatter? Being in your hands is my loss; just kill me or carve me up quickly."
Jiang Chen gave a faint smile.
"Seeing is believing, Mr. Cui truly lives up to his reputation."
Jiang Chen looked back to the tranquil surface of the lake.
"Mr. Cui is a straightforward man, so I won’t beat around the bush. If I wanted to kill you, why would I have invited you here? I need to ask Mr. Cui for a favor."
Cui Zaiye was exceedingly direct.
No one truly fears death.
Even less so someone of his status and position in society.
He didn’t want to show weakness, of course.
But why seek death when there’s a chance to live?
"I know Mr. Cui has great influence in Korea. I wonder if you could find a way to get Miss Lan out?"
Cui Zaiye’s pupils contracted slightly, his eyes revealing an unmistakable loathing.
"Kid, I don’t know who you are, but have you forgotten how my son Cui Chi died?"
"Mr. Cui, I feel it’s necessary to explain. That night at the Wanxiang Senluo, I just wanted to take Kim Joohyun away. As for your son, I didn’t do anything to him; his death has nothing to do with me."
"But what about An Zairong? Wasn’t it he who killed my son?"
The float lay motionless on the surface of the river.
Jiang Chen, whose left hand was still bandaged, held the rod with one hand. "It seems Mr. Cui is a reasonable man. Now that the facts are clear, that makes things easier. There’s an old saying in Shenzhou, ’Every wrong has its perpetrator, and every debt its debtor.’ The murderer is An Zairong; he’s the one you should be avenging. Isn’t seeking revenge on Miss Lan a case of mistaken identity?"
Cui Zaiye sneered, "Who in Korea doesn’t know that the An surname belongs to the lapdog of a certain Shenzhou woman?"
Jiang Chen, neither pleased nor angry. "I was involved in that incident; it was Kim Joohyun who called me. Miss Lan was unaware of it. Whether Mr. Cui believes it or not, your son’s death was never Miss Lan’s order."
"What’s your relationship with her?"
"Friends," Jiang Chen replied succinctly.
Cui Zaiye fell silent for a moment, pondering something, then with a hint of derision, said, "There’s something I want you to understand too. Her arrest isn’t mainly my doing but the Korean government’s. You too have found the wrong person."